A War Without Weapons
by Linguam
Summary: Peter would do anything to keep his little brother safe. But what happens if putting him in danger is the only way to save him? Brotherfic, no slash. Moviebased (after 5 years in Narnia). Rated T, just to be safe.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Right, so this is my first fanfiction, and I have yet to read the books about Narnia so if you find any inaccurate trivia, feel free to send me a message (the same goes for potential mistakes in grammar or language). I have all of you amazing writers to thank for creating this piece, Tonzura123, Sentimental Star and TikiTyler9, just to mention a few. Thank you for (unconsciously) inspiring me and helping me in finding the courage to post this story.

Lastly, I hope you enjoy it, and if not... well, that's okay too.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Narnia or any of the characters, obviously.

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.::. A War Without Weapons .::.

~Prologue~

_It started on their way back.  
_

_First there were only small signs, easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for or if you just didn't pay close enough attention: the latter of which Peter always did. __He noticed almost immediately the slow growing shadow that spread over __his brother's dark eyes, making them change from their normal alertness to an alarming __sort __of lethargy. He started to draw back from the rest of the group – not __often enough for it to be too apparent, but just slightly more than usual – and his __characteristic __smirk and snappy remarks grew fewer and fewer by each day._

_Although Peter hadn't thought too much of it at the time, after all, they were all tired from their journey and his brother had always been quite a solitary person – the __former which was exactly what Edmund had said when his somewhat worried brother had asked about his obvious lack of energy – but he would later recognize __those __to be the first signs, small as they were, and blame himself for not reacting to them sooner._

_On their third day heading back, they were attacked by a small pack of Fells, former devotees of the White Witch, and by then, his little brother had begun to give in to __severe coughing fits._

_The fight couldn't have lasted longer than a few minutes, and hadn't been particularly tough either, but it was well too apparent that it had left Edmund exhausted, so __much so, in fact, that he almost fell out of the saddle the following day. He didn't though, just barely hanging on and in the last minute pulling himself back up, but __Peter had seen it, and that was when the alarm bells seriously began to chime in his head._

_They made camp earlier than usual that day, simply because Peter feared that Edmund might actually fall off his horse and hurt himself if they didn't. He never __admitted that was the reason behind them stopping, of course, but he'd felt his brother's disapproving scowl burning in his back._

_"You're being ridiculous" they younger one had stated a while later, when they were unsaddling their horses. "We should keep moving. There are still a few hours of __light before darkness falls."_

_"No, we should rest" Peter had said, cautiously eyeing his brother. "If we were to be attacked again, we wouldn't want to be too fatigued to stay on horseback, would __we?"_

_Edmund had blushed at that, but was, as always, unrelenting._

_"Peter, I'm fine" he'd stubbornly insisted. "And the odds of us encountering any more of Her strays this close to Cair Paravel are virtually nonexistent. Besides, we're __only a couple of days ride from home, the sooner we arrive, the sooner we can all rest in our proper beds." He'd sounded so calm and reassuring, his words practical __and to the point, and for a moment he seemed almost back to his old, pigheaded self… had it not been for the slight hoarseness in his voice and the way that he stood, __lazily leaning against his horse's side. When nightfall came, the wicked coughing of a fifthteen year old was all that broke the otherwise silent campsite._

_Needless to say, Peter hadn't been the least convinced that he was "fine"._

_When they arrived at Cair Paravel two days later, Edmund had been so overrun with fever and his body trembling so badly from the harsh coughing, that he had to be __carried to his chambers._

_Peter had stormed through the hallway to the girls' sleeping quarters in desperate search for Lucy, or, more accurately, her cordial, but only found Susan, who seemed __to be on her way down to greet them, dressed in a long lilac dress and an equally long coat to protect her from the wind._

_"Where's Lucy!" Peter had asked, his voice coated in ill-concealed worry and fear. In two quick steps he was in front of Susan, shaking her by the shoulders. "Where is __she!"_

_"Peter- Peter, calm down!" his sister had said, startled. "She still hasn't returned from Archenland. She won't for a few days."_

_She spoke carefully, slowly, as if trying not to frighten him._

_Peter just stared dumbly at her._

_"She's in Archenland…" he finally repeated and released his sister from his grip. Panic struck at his very core as the words sunk in. She was in Archenland!_

_"Yes, in Archenland. You sent her there to see if she could help Countess Luna with the illness that is spreading among her people, remember?" Susan rubbed her __arms where Peter's hands had just been present and eyed him worriedly. "What is so urgent that you need Lucy anywa-…"_

_Her eyes widened as realization struck; there was only one thing, one thing that could make her older brother act this erratically, one thing that could make him lose __his head so completely and forget all about composure and self-control._

_When she spoke again, her voice was carefully controlled, but the alarm rang through all the same._

_"What happened?" she asked. "Where is Edmund?"_

_{…}_

_"It's probably just a cold…"Susan said meekly less than a minute later, when they both stood at Edmund's bed, clasping each other's hands and helplessly watching __their little brother gasp for air while his body jerked in never-ending spasms._

_That was three days ago._

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**A/N: Good/Bad? Boring/Intriguing? Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**/Linguam**


	2. Only The Beginning

**A/N: **Well, I thought about it and realized that I should probably post the first chapter along with the prologue, so, here it is! Once again, thank you all for reading, and enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, still don't own them.

* * *

.::. Only The Beginning .::.

~Chapter 1~

Since they'd come back, Peter hadn't left his brother's side more than what was absolutely necessary. He had given strict instructions; no one except for the healer, a Faun named Valeria, and Susan were to enter his brother's chambers, if it wasn't a matter of _great _urgency. No one had dared impugn him, not even Oreius, who had only watched him with a not too satisfied look in his eyes, and as a result, Peter had spent these last three days in silence.

Except for the seemingly interminable coughing and the occasional bird song, that is.

That was why his heart almost jumped out of his chest at the sound, though a truly wonderful sound it was, that he hadn't heard for too many days.

"Peter..?"

He snapped right back from his state of half-sleep, briefly angered with himself for not being able to stay awake. But the frustration was quickly replaced by a wave of relief and concern.

"Hi there" he said softly, feeling the anxiety of the past days slowly leave his body, and smiled at the pale figure laying before him, covered up to his ears with blankets, his dark eyes drowsy from sleep and fever. "I feared we had lost you there for a moment." He said it jokingly, not wanting to reveal that it hadn't seemed to be far off.

"And leave you ruling Narnia without my council? Now talk about a disaster" Edmund said raspingly and managed a tired smirk.

His words were barely audible, so the High King carefully got up from the bedpost where he had been sitting to survey his brother since all this started. He tried not to wince at the sudden ache in his joints as he walked over to the younger one's side and sat down on the bed beside him, worriedly studying him. He was so pale, paler than usual (which was quite an achievement in itself), his skin covered in a light layer of perspiration, and so extremely thin…

Peter felt the concern stir up inside of him anew, but reminded himself that his brother at least didn't seem to have lost his sarcastic attitude, and managed a weak smile in return.

"How are you feeling?"

Edmund eyed him silently for a while.

"You look terrible" he finally said, and the High King couldn't help laughing.

If truth be told, he was exhausted.

Since the end of their journey, which was almost a week past, he had spent every waking hour – and most of the sleeping ones as well – to worry about his brother; dabbing his forehead when he became disturbingly hot, hushing reassuringly and slowly rocking him back and forth in his arms when the fever left him too restless to sleep, gently forcing some water between his cracked lips and down his raucous throat – and almost fainting with fear when finding traces of coughed-up blood on the glass –, caressing his back when the coughing became so fierce that it made him moan in torment…

The few times that he had left the room was when Susan had threatened with having the guards drag him to his own chambers; and since that didn't seem very kingly, and Peter knew that his dear sister wouldn't hesitate actually making her threat a reality, he had reluctantly left for a few hours of restless sleep, before returning to watch over Edmund once again.

But of course he didn't tell his brother that.

Instead he just shrugged and said, smile still on his lips:

"Well, I think that both of us have seen better days."

Edmund made a weak attempt to drag himself up to a sitting position, but gave up when he felt his head starting to spin, realizing that he would probably faint before succeeding, and fell right back towards the cushions with a miserable sigh.

"How long have I been out?" he asked and tiredly started to rub his temples.

"A few days" Peter answered and helped him swallow a few mouthfuls of water, not really feeling the need to go into details now that Edmund had finally awoken.

"And you have been sitting here all the time?" His voice was faint, but there was a distinctive edge to his tone and he eyed his older brother sharply. When said brother didn't answer, he sighed despondently and would probably have flown his arms out in an exasperated gesture, had it not been for the thick layers of blankets covering him.

"Aslan's mane, Peter, you have _a_ _kingdom _to rule! Meetings to attend, diplomats to charm and countless others who rely on you, or have you forgotten? You can't hover over me whenever I catch a cold or get injured in battle!" He was mad. Peter knew that he was mad at him, and yet he couldn't keep the smile on his face from growing wider. Edmund had a right to be upset, of course, he thought that as High King, the older should act more responsibly, and Peter knew that his focus during these last few days might not have been rightfully distributed, but… Edmund just looked so pitiful where he lay, scowling, and it felt so good to hear his voice, hoarse although it was, that Peter couldn't help laughing again and drag him into a tight embrace.

"Peter..!"

Edmund tried to push him away but Peter held him firmly, and the Just King soon gave up and leaned back at his brother's chest with a tired sigh.

"Honestly, it's embarrassing" he murmured, trying to sound annoyed, but Peter knew that he had given up on berating him for the moment, and only placed a soft kiss on his brother's head, earning a slightly annoyed, but not entirely discontent, snort in return. Silence fell and Peter almost thought that Edmund had gone back to sleep, when he suddenly spoke.

"What happened during the meeting with the Calormene, did they agree to our terms?" he asked, his voice sleepy. "I can only assume I missed it."

"I wouldn't call it 'agree', but we reached a compromise in the end" Peter answered. "…although it took most of the day and _a lot_ of persuasion." He sighed at the memory of the meeting two days past, one of the very few times that he had been forced to leave his brother's side. "They sure know how to try your patience."

Edmund nodded slowly and Peter could feel him suppressing a yawn.

"And Lucy, is she back from Archenland yet?"

"No, not yet."

"When is she coming?" he asked and coughed a little, voice steadily growing hoarser, and Peter swallowed hard, suddenly finding it difficult to speak.

"She should be back soon… maybe in a few days" he answered, trying not to let the desperation that he felt reflect in his voice. "You should get some sleep, Ed."

"I thought you said that I have been sleeping for days" the young king started saying, but was then interrupted by a more severe coughing fit. Peter quickly leaned him forward and slowly stroked his back – a skill he had been quick to master after these past few days – and waited for it to wear off and the muscles in his brother's body to relax.

When the coughing finally stopped, Peter gently pulled his little brother back to the cushions, his dark head placed against the older one's shoulder, as Edmund moaned and unhappily snuggled against the crook in his neck. The High King felt the heat radiate from his brother's body and reached for the damp cloth that lay near a bowl of water on the nightstand. Carefully caressing the younger one's forehead with it, he felt Edmund relax almost immediately.

"You're really warm" Peter mumbled with a troubled frown; concern, resignation and despair all fighting for his countenance.

"Fever usually comes with a cold, Peter" Edmund muttered raspingly.

_Not like this,_ Peter thought, feeling uneasy. _This is different. I don't know how, but it is._

He didn't say anything though, but silently continued to rock his brother back and forth in his arms. Nevertheless, Edmund felt his discomfort – when had he ever been able to hide anything from his brother? – and, with great effort, he turned around to face the older teenager.

"Stop being such a mother hen, you're acting as if I'm lying on my death bed" he scowled, not realizing or not caring about the shock and fear that settled on his brother's face at the comment. "It's just a regular cold, Peter. Don't be so overdramatic."

_There is nothing regular about this cold_, Peter thought bitterly as Edmund's body was once again trembling under the ruthless power of yet another coughing fit. He shifted and vigorously began stroking his brother's back again, nausea stirring up inside him when he caught a glimpse of red on the cover, and he found himself thinking the same thing that he had been thinking for the past few days, every day with even greater urgency:

_Where is Lucy?_

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__**A/N: Sorry for it being kind of short, I promise that the next chapter will be longer. So, comments? I appreciate any kind of feedback!  
**

**Thank you all for reading!**

/Linguam


	3. A Difficult Decision

**Disclaimer:** Pretty sure you know I don't own them.

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.::. A War Without Weapons .::.  
~Chapter 2~

"Where is Edmund?"

That was the first thing that the Valiant Queen said when she caught eye of her two older siblings in the courtyard. In different circumstances it would actually have been rather comical; Peter had been waiting for what felt like an eternity for Lucy's arrival, and yet found himself dumbfounded at her direct question.

"Lucy, how..?"

"Peter, where is Edmund?" their sister asked again, worry shining so brightly in her eyes that it was obvious to them all that she knew of his condition.

It was Susan who finally answered, a puzzled look on her face.

"He is in his room. He has been unconscious for days…"

Without any further delay, Lucy stormed passed them through the castle doors.

"When did it start?" she asked over her shoulder, knowing her siblings would follow her as she made her way towards Edmund's sleeping quarters.

"Just over a week ago" Peter said, the frown on his forehead deepening as he realized that it had been three days since their last talk. Since then, their younger brother had drifted off into restless sleep and incessant unconsciousness. "Two days before we returned from our expedition."

"Sudden fatigue, fever and coughing… coughing up blood?"

Peter started and firmly grabbed his little sister by the shoulders, forcing them all to an abrupt halt.

"Lucy, how can you even _know _that?"

Despite Susan's objections, he had decided not to send word about Edmund's conditions to their sister, fearing how the younger one would react.

The Valiant Queen now met her brother's bewildered gaze with her own, just as pleading one.

"I need to see him." Her voice was strained, and the panic beaming out of her eyes was enough to make Peter even more anxious.

When her brother didn't respond she repeated:

"Peter, I need to see him _now!_"

An image of their brother was ruthlessly pressed against The High King's retina, bringing unwanted tears to his eyes. He swallowed hard and then forced out the words with a calmness he never even realized that he possessed.

"Lucy, I don't think that you should see him."

"_What?_" Their sister cried out.

But before she could voice any further complaints, they were interrupted by a voice from behind them.

"Perhaps it is best that you listen to what your sister has to say."

Although faint and tender, the sound made all three of the humans jump in surprise. As theywheeled around, they were greeted by the still gaze of a Badger.

"Who are you?" Peter demanded, absently acknowledging that he held Rhindon in a firm grip in his hands. His voice sounded shrill even in his own ears, and his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

_Calm down before you hurt someone, you great __git__, _Edmund's voice whispered annoyingly in his ear.

Before the Badger could speak, Lucy let out a trembling sigh and eyed her royal siblings.

"Peter, Susan…" she said and gestured with an apologetic smile towards the Badger. "There is someone I'd like you to meet."

{…}

At the same time, Edmund laid thrashing around in his bed, haunted by near every dreadful nightmare he had ever experienced during their time in Narnia.

_Everything was ice and snow and darkness. Shrill laughter echoed through the dungeons. Even though he covered his ears, the sound still pierced through and made his soul quiver. So much Pain. Solitude. Famine. Fear. And so very, very cold…_

_A sudden change of scenery._

_Fields. War cries. Blood and movement everywhere. Bodies and shades of red covering the grass. _Where is Peter!? _Screams of suffering and death and his High King colliding with the blunt end of a spear and falling off his horse…_

Edmund immediately opened his eyes, heart hammering in his chest, air caught in his lungs. He opened his mouth to call out for Peter – or for just about anyone really, he didn't feel particularly fastidious at the moment – gut-wrenching panic in every bone in his body, when he noticed the warm body of his brother curled up next to him. Peace poured over him almost instantly and he drew an unsteady breath, not being able to decide whether he should cry out of sheer hysteria or laugh with relief.

He started to extend his shaky arm but impeded upon realizing that Peter needed the sleep almost as much as he did (besides, except for being on the verge of emotional collapse, Edmund actually felt remarkably good!).

The young king gave an exasperated sigh and scowled mildly at his brother's sleeping form (although secretly satisfied with his presence). Knowing Peter, he'd probably made himself sick with worry and disregarded all, or at least most, of his royal duties during these last few days.

The thought brought a sad smile to Edmund's face, and he slowly started to relax. His eyes had almost closed completely when something flickered at the right side of his bed and made the blood turn to ice in his veins.

_No. No, no, no, it can't be… It just can't be!_

The bone-aching panic returned with full strength as Edmund tried to reach out for his brother, to grasp the sword that stood leaning against his bedpost, to just touch _something_, but his body wouldn't obey him. He moved so slowly, _too _slowly, and everything happened so fast.

Peter suddenly looked at him – _when had he awoken? –_ stark blue eyes sparkling with concern.

"Ed, what's wrong?"

"_Behind you!" _He tried to scream, but there came no sound. The Witch raised her hand, dark red lips curled into a shrewd smile, and panic flooded through every fiber of Edmund's body when he watched in horror as her wand pierced through Peter's back, blood instantly covering his torso and the light leaving those beautiful blue china's.

That was when he really woke.

{…}

"He'll have to _what!?_"

"It isn't far, Your Majesty. The journey will only take a few days."

"A few _days!?_"

"Peter-…" Susan warned, but her older brother was oblivious to her words.

"Edmund can't even sit up without support, he hasn't been awake and coherent for _three days, _how in the name of Aslan is he supposed to manage _days _on horseback? He'll never survive!"

"Nor will he if he stays here" the Badger, who had introduced herself as Morora, retorted grimly. "No, your journey won't be easy nor without danger, but at least there is a chance…"

"I would like something a little more substantial before I embark on something that will without a doubt prove _fatal _to my brother were we not to succeed" Peter interrupted coldly.

Morora gave an exasperated sigh but before she could reply, Susan interrupted.

"Peter, would you at least take her words into consideration? Neglecting information such as this is a luxury that we don't have." She spoke with the calmness and practicality of the Gentle Queen, but still was not able to fully conceal the trepidation in her voice.

She didn't like the idea any more than the High King himself did.

_This is not a solution, it only adds another problem to the bloody mess! _Peter thought bitterly.

"We could wait for a little while longer, until Valeria comes up with something..." he tried. "She has been working effortlessly for days."

It wasn't a lie; the Faun had worked day and night tirelessly in search for something, anything, that might lessen Edmund's suffering. She hadto, no, was _destined_ _to_, find something…

"If we could afford to wait, then why won't you let me see him?"

Peter abruptly roused from his silent reflection and turned to the voice of his littlest sister. Lucy's eyes sparkled with tears, and bore evidence of the same fear that he himself felt holding his heart in such a tight grip. Finding himself at a sudden loss of words – for what could he really say? That the truth was that Edmund looked too agonized, too broken, for her to have to witness? – he turned to Susan for support, but his sister only watched him helplessly.

At that point, all strength left his body and Peter sank down in the nearest chair. His eyes ached from the sleepless nights and worries of the last few days, and he resolutely rubbed them to prevent his own tears from falling.

Silence fell for what felt like several minutes, Lucy's sniveling the only sound in the room.

It was the Badger who finally broke it.

"Your Majesties…" she said slowly. "I come to you with a solution, and chances are it's the only one you'll get. Ask your youngest sister, King Peter, she has seen this sickness up close."

Peter turned to Lucy and upon doing so, his heart broke even more. Hollow-eyed and lachrymose, face pallid, and cheeks drained of all their natural ruddiness, she was far from her normally animated, buoyant and loving self.

"It sounds like the same thing that is breaking out in Archenland" the Valiant Queen said silently, turning her penetrating blues towards her brother. "So many of them died, Peter, and only within one or two weeks, some even within days, and I… I couldn't help them. The cordial just… It didn't work…"

She looked as though she was about to break down crying, and Peter held out his arms towards her. Lucy all but threw herself at him, tears running down her cheeks as he hugged her tightly and gently stroked her hair.

"So this flower…" he began after a while, voice heavy with fatigue. "It only grows in a specific part of the mountains?"

"Yes, and it is said to have the ability to heal everything" Morora the Badger confirmed. "It's the ultimate healing herb."

"But it cannot be removed from its grove, or it will die?" Susan asked.

"Unfortunately, that too, is correct."

_How_ _convenient, _Edmund's voice muttered in his brother's ear.

"Which immediately makes it more difficult." Peter frowned. "Has anyone even seen this magical flower?"

Normally he would never have been this uncongenial when offered help, and he could feel Susan's disapproving gaze at his left, but he couldn't seem to help it. For the love of Aslan, this was Edmund they were talking about, his dear, obstinate and fiercely loyal little brother! It was Peter's job to _protect _him, not put him in danger!

Morora snorted tetchily but did not lose her composure; the one among them that had actually succeeded best within that particular field.

The realization made Peter feel a sudden urge to burst out laughing.

"I have seen it with my own eyes" she answered now. "And I can assure your Majesties that there is no doubting the magic in it."

"Forgive me, dear Badger, these past few days have been challenging in many more ways than one" Peter found himself saying, the control he had begun to fear that he'd permanently lost suddenly revived. "And have no doubt that we are most grateful for your assistance, although I am sure that you can understand our reluctance to follow your advice."

He paused for a moment before adding:

"And even if we were to consider embarking on this excursion; Edmund still won't survive the trip to _get _there. He is far too weak."

_Was he seriously considering this?_

"I can give you something to make the journey easier for him" the Badger assured him and reached a hand into her satchel. "Although it won't heal him, it'll at least reduce the symptoms."

Peter took the pouch that she handed him and unwillingly wrinkled his nose.

"It smells hideous."

"And tastes even worse" Morora agreed. "But it will ease his distress."

The sole thought of seeing Edmund's eyes again, to hear his voice once more, maybe even hear him laugh – dear Aslan, was that too much to ask for? – was enough to win Peter over… almost.

He opened his mouth to pose another question, when they were all startled by a sudden, terrified shriek.

Within less than a minute, Peter crashed through the door to Edmund's room, and one look at his younger brother was all it took for the last shards of doubt to leave his mind.

Slowly rocking the young king in his arms and making reassuring hushing sounds into his damp, dark hair, Peter raised his tired yet determined gaze to the doorway where the others had finally caught up with him, the decision written all over his face even before he uttered the words.

"We leave at dawn."

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**A/N: **I guess that the decision is made, then! They will embark on quite an interesting journey, no doubt *evil grin*. So, what did you think? This one was a bit longer than the previous chapter. As always, I'd be grateful for any kind of feedback (as long as it's within the field of "constructive criticism", that is) and extra points and appreciation to those who find grammar mistakes or other inaccuracies.  
And sadly, it will take some time for the next chapter to be posted, as a family vacation is rapidly coming up and the computer will be forced to stay behind. But bear with me, it will come!

I hope that you all have a great holiday,

/Linguam


	4. Day 1

**A/N:** Yeeeeah, I know. My muses stayed behind when I returned from vacation (and I have still to hear from them...), thus the inexcusable delay. But I promise, this story _will be_ written, although it might, regretfully, take some time. I apologize for that, and will keep trying to find my inspiration.

Now, without further due, some more brotherly fluff!

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.::. A War Without Weapons .::.

~ Chapter 3 ~

He realized that he was staring, but he really couldn't help himself. Oreius had to repeat himself three times before Peter actually registered what the Centaur was saying, for all his focus was directed towards the pale, fragile form that was sitting in the saddle and riding next to him.

Edmund.

It was what he had been hoping for, _praying _for for days, but he still couldn't believe it to be true; Edmund was not only awake, but _talking. _And he was actually _riding a horse! _They were so mundane things, but that didn't stop his heart from swelling with gratitude as his icy blues took in all that was Edmund Pevensie. Right now the young king seemed to be in deep discussion with an unusually frivolous Centaur called Therus (whom Peter had placed to guard Edmund, were anything to happen during their journey) and whatever the topic of their conversation, it sent them both laughing till tears ran down their faces.

Had it only been yesterday that his brother lying screaming in bed, haunted by vicious nightmares and a cruel fever that never gave any sign to cease? Peter found it hard to understand.

He forced his gaze elsewhere and swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay as images of the previous night started to flood his retina.

_When he had managed to calm Edmund down enough, Peter produced the small pouch that Morora the Badger had given him and gazed inside. The contents were a mixture of grass and herbs that he did not recognize, and he had hesitated for a moment before taking some of it into his hands._

"_How much should I give him?" he had asked cautiously, trying not to gasp at the hideous smell. Behind him, Lucy had covered her mouth and nose with her small hands, and Susan wrinkled her nose in disgust._

"_No more than that… yes, that's about right. He has to swallow it all."_

_That had proved even more difficult than Peter had believed it would be; Edmund had fought him with surprising vigor when he had tried to force the herbs into his mouth. After a few minutes he had realized the futileness of his attempts and turned to Morora._

"_Can't we dilute it with tea or something?" he had asked._

_The Badger had nodded grimly._

"_For now, that might be the most successful way of getting the herbs in his system" she had agreed. "However, the effects will be stronger and longer-lasting if he ingests it pure in the future."_

_Peter had nodded and Susan sent for a kettle, and before long the herbs were mingled with the hot water and Peter made another effort of trying to make Edmund swallow the foul-smelling mixture. It still wasn't without difficulty, though. Edmund hadn't been the least cooperative – and who could blame him, the mingling hadn't done any improvements to the stench of it – but after some trashing around Peter eventually managed to force some of the tea down Edmund's throat, and only minutes later, he opened his big, dark eyes for the first time in days, and it was the most beautiful sight Peter had ever seen._

Only thinking about it made Peter's stomach turn, and it was not only from happiness and relief. He fleetingly wished for his sisters to be there, to tell him that he was being ridiculous and convince him that he had done the right thing, but then brushed the thought away. Susan had no choice but to stay behind – after all, someone had to be in Cair Paravel and rule their kingdom – and Lucy had just come back from a long voyage – despite her objections, she needed rest.

No, Peter knew that what he did had to be done, that it had all been for the best, but still the memory made him feel extremely uncomfortable. Just the image of Edmund's face contorted in pain and fear when he had forced the herbs down was enough for his breath catch in his throat.

_But I can't lose him, I couldn't bear to lose him again…_

"Peter?"

He jumped back to reality and turned to gaze into the pale but beautiful face of his younger brother, who studied him expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said; you do realize that we should inform Countess Luna of this possible cure?"

Edmund spoke slowly and eyed his brother carefully, concern in his lovely browns.

"Are you alright?"

Peter stared at his brother in candid surprise. _Shouldn't he be the one asking that question?_

"Yes, Ed, I'm fine" he said, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"Because…" His brother swallowed, clearly distraught, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You are crying."

Peter's hand immediately flew up to his face and sure enough, there was an indisputable trace of wetness on his left cheek. He quickly wiped it awayas his face started to redden. He had better start to control this roller coaster that was currently in charge of his emotions; he was High King, he reminded himself, and he should never cry in front of his subjects.

"Peter..?"

"Ed, I'm fine." He assured.

"You're not starting to feel sick, are you?" There was real dread in his brother's eyes.

"No, no." Peter shook his head firmly. "Not sick, promise. Really, don't worry about me."

Edmund didn't look particularly convinced but before he could voice any objections, Peter steered his Horse closer, so close so that their knees brushed against one another's, and leaned over to give him a firm, one-armed hug, not caring that they were surrounded by other Narnians – after all, he'd already made a fool of himself – or that the sudden display of affection made Edmund stiffen momentarily.

"I'm just glad that you are here, is all" he whispered softly into his brothers' dark curls, his voice thick with emotions he wouldn't be able to conceal even if he'd wanted to.

"You're such a girl" Edmund murmured, although he noticeably leaned into his brother's embrace. "Sometimes I wonder if Aslan shouldn't have named you 'the Soft' instead of 'the Magnificent'."

Peter chuckled and gave a final squeeze before letting go, and tried not to burst out laughing at the somewhat stunned expression that was covering Edmund's features. Stains of red were protruding on his otherwise pale cheeks and his forehead was contorted into a frown, directed Peter's way. But Peter saw a hint of amusement in those brown eyes, and only smiled back.

But to spare his brother from further embarrassment, and give them both time to compose themselves, he quickly changed the subject.

"There is no actual documentation of this flower or its prowess" he said, addressing Edmund's initial question. "We won't know for sure if it works until we've tried it ourselves, and first, we have to actually _find_ it." He hesitated for a moment before adding. "It might just be a dead end, and there's no need to give them false hope."

_The only thing that is keeping me from falling apart…_

"So I'm the guinea pig" his brother concluded, and coughed lightly into his hand before continuing with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "This should be fun."

When nightfall finally came and camp had been set up and orders and supplies distributed, Peter went in search for Edmund. The young king had barely eaten but only forced down enough to make Peter happy, before excusing himself and requesting permission to check the perimeters. Peter hadn't been particularly pleased with the idea of not having his brother within his direct line of vision, but at the same time he knew that he couldn't simply confine Edmund to his tent either, so he had reluctantly nodded his approval on the condition that Therus went with him. However, that was almost an hour ago, and Peter had started to feel restless – and worried. That was why he was now wandering through the campand, after expanding his search to the outskirts of their party, finally found his brother, silently staring across the shimmering surface of a nearby lake – alone and presumably lost in thought. Peter stopped and just watched him for a while; took in the pallor of his complexion, the faraway expression in his eyes and the slight stooping in his composure, as he stood leaning against a large oaken tree. Edmund looked slightly better than he had any other time during this last week, but was still far from his normal, energetic self.

Peter sighed, annoyance stirring inside of him despite his attempts to ignore it.

"You are not supposed to be alone, Edmund."

The younger started at his voice and his hand instinctively flew to his sword.

"By Aslan, Peter..!"

"Where is Therus?" The High King demanded.

Edmund slowly let go of the hilt of his sword and let out a sigh.

"I sent him away. Or, more like ordered him to leave me alone, so don't go too hard on him. I just… needed to get away from all the commotion for a while."

Peter was about to ask if he was feeling alright, but then thought the better of it. The answer was painfully obvious to both of them.

"I put him to guard you at all times" he said instead. "And I meant it. You're not supposed to wander off on your own."

His brother couldn't help but to roll his eyes.

"I don't need a babysitter, Peter. Nothing is going to happen…"

"At _all_ _times_, Edmund."

The younger teen sighed exasperatedly and glared at his brother – but, in the end, nodded in defeat.

"Fine. I won't go anywhere without him ever again. Happy?"

Peter smiled a little and relaxed.

"Good. And now…" He reached into his pocket and produced a small bag which he handed to his brother.

The Just King made a face of disgust.

"Why does everything that is supposed to be good for you taste so horrible?"

Nevertheless, he took the pouch and extracted a small amount of dried herbs in his hand, suspiciously examining it for a moment before reluctantly tossing it into his mouth. Peter smiled sympathetically as his brother chewed with some difficulty for a while, one hand over his mouth to stop himself from gagging, and was then able to force it down – before turning abruptly and almost running down to the riverbank.

Peter watched in silence as Edmund altered between swallowing the water in huge gulps, and gasping for air, a troubled frown covering his forehead. But he remained quiet. He didn't trust the steadiness of his voice, and he was painfully aware that there was nothing he could do to ease his brother's discomfort.

"I'm good" the Just King announced after a while in a choked voice. He remained on all fours for a moment, calming his breathing before slowly standing with the help of a nearby tree. "Aslan's mane, that stuff is positively the most disgusting I've ever tasted – and we have tasted some very interesting dishes during our visits to Calormen!"

Peter only nodded and for a while, Edmund's heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard in the glade.

"We should go back." The older said at last, and the two kings made their way towards the camp in silence, Edmund stumbling over roots once in a while but never falling. Peter suppressed the urge to support him, knowing that it would only annoy the younger, but never let him stray too far from his side.

Edmund might not be cured, but at least he is alive, he told himself.

_For now, _a small voice in the back of his head whispered.

* * *

**A/N: This didn't really come out the way I planned it to, but whatever, anything's better than nothing!**

**Thank you for reading, and feel free to comment on anything you find convenient!**

/Linguam


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